Permanently Inked
by bpfatcat
Summary: These marks are more than skin deep. Rated T for slight language.


**Disclaimer; Trust me, if I'd written HP, the last bit of this story would have** ** _never_** **happened.**

Magical tattoos were all the rage amongst the less conservative witches and wizards; enhanced with the same charm and using ink soaked in the same potion that allowed pictures to move, animals scurried around bodies, names and dates shimmered and changed colour in the light, and tribal bands and runes could be seen pulsing, seeming to exude their own brand of power.

Since their older brother Charlie had returned from Romania to visit with two dragon tattoos circling his neck and arm (quickly hiding under his top when Molly began screaming at her second eldest) Fred and George had swiftly decided that they wanted to join in the group of the 'inked up'. This was only encouraged when Bill, glancing around nervously to check for his mother, lifted his shirt to show an intrinsically detailed set of hieroglyphs splayed across his hip and runes over his heart, explained the magical properties of the symbols, then rolled his jeans up to show the silver tiger that paced restlessly around his shin; his patronus. When they announced, in hushed tones- as Molly was still on the prowl for her misbehaving children- that they wanted to get matching tattoos, their eldest brother winked mischievously and promised to take them to see his tattooist the next day.

The twins, now living above their shop, spent many hours that night discussing what they thought would be best, from having Gred and Forge on their arms to WWW on their foreheads, which, although being a highly amusing prospect, made them shudder at the thought of their mum's wrath. Eventually, they decided to match Bill's idea and agreed on their patronuses, for their first tattoos at least.

They awoke early next morning and seemed to be buzzing with excitement as they tried to concentrate on their customers, eagerly awaiting their brother's arrival at midday. When he finally arrived (the twins swore the clock was moving slower) they immediately accosted him and, barely allowing him a single foot in the shop, turned him around and back outside, calling to Verity that they were taking the rest of the day off. Bill seemed amused by their obvious excitement and, when he questioned them about it gave a loud laugh at their answer. "It's a permanent way to irritate mum, why wouldn't we be excited?"

He led them along a side-path off Diagon Alley, warning them about the pain caused by the process, and shrugging his shoulders at their bravado. "It hurts more than Muggle tattoos, because they have to etch the magic into your skin too." He said seriously.  
They chuckled. "We've been testing our products on ourselves for years."  
"A little needle won't hurt us."  
"It'll be absolutely-"  
"Fine."

He shrugged his shoulders again and they followed him into a small tattoo parlour, grinning identically as a burly man greeted Bill. "Billy-Boy!" He called fondly, the obviously undesired nickname making his ears burn red. "Here for another one?"  
He shook his head. "'Fraid not Lenny, I'm here with my brothers today."  
The older man scowled. "Not going to Romania for theirs then?" Obviously there was no love lost between him and whomever Charlie had seen, and the twins raised their eyebrows in synch. Noticing, he continued; "Idiot man nearly ruined the Ridgeback I did on Charlie when he tried to do his Fireball, the thing hid for a week before he came here to get it sorted."  
"Where did the Ridgeback hide?"  
The man gave a lecherous grin. "Somewhere not too comfortable."  
Snickering, they saw Bill desperately trying to bite back a smile, before saying, "Lenny here is the best in the business, he'll give you any tattoo you want. Len, this is Fred and George."  
They politely shook hands, before Fred, unable to resist, blurted out, "If you're a tattoo artist, why don't you have any?"  
The man chuckled slightly before peeling the t-shirt from his body and displaying his ink-covered chest, smiling as countless animals began to run excitedly around his body, and a woman's face winked up at him. "I keep them under cover until I know who's coming in; the people who want hearts or bloody rainbows don't really appreciate my look." The pair looked on in interest, smiling in awe as a hippogriff flapped its eerily realistic wings and circled his neck, before settling on his shoulder and fixing them with its beady eyes. "What is it you're wanting anyway?" Lenny asked.

"Cornish pixies." They replied in unison, and then flushed equal shades of puce when their brother and the tattooist burst into peals of laughter.  
"What?!" Fred complained.  
"They're our patronuses!" George added indignantly.  
This seemed to amuse the men even more, and the twins scowl deepened as Lenny turned to their brother and gasped out, "You get a tiger, they get Cornish pixies!"  
When the other two had calmed down somewhat, they once again began defending themselves. "Well," George began, "they're much bigger than normal pixies."  
"About three times the size really."  
"And three times the size obviously means-"  
"Three times the trouble!"  
Shaking his head in mirth, Lenny smiled slightly. "Give us a look at them then, it'll be easier for me to draw if I've seen them."

In synch, they raised their wands and called out, "Expecto Patronum!" Immediately two white figures burst forth, about the size of a young child, mischievous looks on their identical faces as they examined the room. As troublesome as the wizards that had conjured them, they immediately took to knocking over ink bottles and spinning round in circles on the artists' chairs, matching expressions of childish glee making them seem to glow brighter. Fred and George rolled on the floor and clutched their sides in laughter as Lenny's mouth dropped open in a mixture of shock and horror, and they became stronger and even more devious, fuelled by the mirth of their creators. However, just as they were working to undo the candelabras that hung from the walls, they were halted by a roar echoing menacingly through the room. The humans and pixies all turned in shock to find Bill, one eyebrow raised, standing behind a magnificent silvery tiger, who was matching its owners look of disapproval. It was easy to see a lot of their brother in his patronus; the quiet, calm intimidation, the intensity and hints of wildness in its eyes, even the small smirk visible around the feline's mouth. The two pixies quickly vanished into mist as Fred and George looked appraisingly at the tiger, grinning once more when it gave a playful lick on Bill's hand before also disappearing.

"So," Lenny said as the four waved their wands to clean the mess, "pixies."  
Fred scowled as George crossed his arms. " _Cornish_ pixies." He corrected.  
The pair nodded defiantly and, after a stern look, apologised for nearly destroying his store. He waved them off before indicating to two seats and telling them to sit. "You going to stick around?" He called to Bill, but he shook his head.  
"I'd love to see the show, but I have to get back to work, I'm only on my lunch break."  
"Show?" George questioned.  
"Magical tattoos hurt, a hell of a lot." Lenny said, frowning as they snorted with derision and said goodbye to 'Billy-Boy'.  
"Just 'cause you can't handle it! We're obviously manlier than you Billy!" They taunted. He and Bill shared a private glance of amusement before the former called for his assistant and the latter exited the building.

Half an hour later found the twins grimacing in pain, occasionally letting out a yelp as Lenny and his associate Sara marked their skin with ink and magic. They were soon regretting their offhand response to their brother's warnings; this hurt even more than their first (far too strong) batch of U-No-Poo. Lenny seemed to take special joy as he wiped the smirk from George's face, marking his arm with seemingly more force than entirely necessary, and as he met Fred's eyes, both winced. But despite the pain, they watched with eager wonder as the silver forms began to take shape on their forearms.

They briefly asked why the tattooist had chosen to put them there, as they would soon move all over their skin, to which the man shrugged and said, "Easier for me, and much less painful for you. If I was doing this on your ribs right not, you'd be crying. It's like getting coloured tats instead of silver; they hurt like a bitch."  
"Did Bill cry when he had the ones on his chest done?" George asked, always on the lookout for another opportunity to embarrass the eldest Weasley child, but to his and his twins disappointment, the other man simply chuckled.  
"Nah, your brother's made of tough stuff."  
"We are too!" They protested simultaneously, though the effect was somewhat ruined as they both hissed in shock and discomfort.  
Lenny gave them a small smile. "I wouldn't worry lads, you're taking this far better than most people do. We've only got to fill them in now, and you'll be on your way." Small grins crept onto their faces, only to be replaced moments later with gritted teeth, though the excited glimmer still shone in their blue eyes.

In what seemed like no time at all, the two artists had finished and were waving their wands over the designs, smiling as the creatures immediately zoomed off and the twins whooped in joy. They comically ran in circles, attempting to see the pixies that were now peeking cheekily out from over their shoulders, before cackling wildly at the humans' antics. After paying and shaking Lenny and Sara's hands enthusiastically, they bounded out, talking lively about the realistic look of their new tattoos, and wickedly anticipating their mother's reaction. Stopping off briefly in Gringotts, they skipped through the lobby, to the disapproval of the goblins, and went straight to Bill's office, barging in without knocking and giving him identical hugs of gratitude and embarrassingly sloppy kisses on each of his cheeks. They bounded out again, grinning roguishly as they heard their red-cheeked brother apologise to the African delegation he was sat with for the interruption to their _private_ meeting.

As they had arranged for extra help in the shop, and knew that Verity was more than capable of holding the fort, they didn't bother checking back in at Wizard Wheezes, but apparated straight back to the Burrow. It was a few weeks before the big Weasley-Delacour wedding, and so the ramshackled old house was nearly fit to burst, and the twins were immediately recruited by their mum to help with the housework.

They joined Harry and Ron as they degnomed the garden again, (they swore that the buggers were deliberately breeding more and more simply to spite the humans) and told them in hushed tones about their day. Harry looked suitably impressed, though somewhat offended as Fred's tattoo gave him a rude hand gesture, whereas Ron simply wooped for joy. "Mum's going to completely forget that we set the table settings on fire," He exclaimed happily to his best friend, "she's going to be too busy killing these idiots!"

He was right in his prediction, and Molly did indeed seem ready to resort to violence, but the two quickly ran off, chuckling as her furious screams followed them out. They skidded to a halt, however, when one Hermione Granger stepped into their path. "Alright Ms Prefect," Fred began, sure that the news would've reached her by now , "we've already heard the lecture from our mum."  
"Most of it anyway." George smirked.  
"True, Forge. See Granger, we learnt long ago that when her face starts to turn purple-"  
"And her hair gets twice as big-"  
"And her eyes start flashing-"  
"It's time for Gred and I-"  
"To leave." They finished together.

"Regardless of that, we don't need another telling off." George warned, disconcerted by her silence and raised eyebrow.  
"Actually," she began when she was sure they had finished with their back-and-forth, "I was wondering if you'd let me see them. The whole process is fascinating, I really..." She began to list the various things she had read about magical tattoos as the dual pixies poked their heads out from under their shirts and giggled when the light brush of her fingertips tickled them. Fred and George quickly tuned out of her lecture and shared shocked looks at the young woman's interest and, even more, the lack of scolding that was going on.

When Hermione finally finished her inspection, she gave them a wide smile and declared; "I love them."  
The twins shared a grin. "Best idea ever, Gred."  
"Couldn't agree more Forge."

...

The room was too clean, the flat too quiet, the world too empty. He supposed that his mother had come round again, for the glass shards of the mirror he had ruthlessly pounded with his fists the night before were now fixed, his own face daring to look back at him once more. He hadn't bothered to clean it up before leaving that morning, and had spent hours endlessly sat on the floor, talking to no-one, so she must've come by after the funeral.

He shuddered; the funeral. Two weeks after the final battle, after he had lost half of himself, after he had entered the great hall to find out that Fred... There had been hundreds of people at the funeral, and all offered him their condolences, but as his twin's body had been lowered into the earth, George had never felt more alone. His family had surrounded him in a sea of red hair, Harry and Hermione holding his two younger siblings tightly, but no amount of support from them could heal the hole within him.

Avoiding his reflection, he walked through to the bathroom that sat between his bedroom and the ominously empty one that still smelt a bit like Fred, pulling off his robes as he went. He stepped into the shower, charming the water so it was hot enough to scald him, forcing the chill that had settled in his heart out. Or trying to at least. His pale form quickly turned scarlet as he revelled in the numbing pain caused by the powerful blast, and he closed his eyes in the satisfying masochism that burnt him, wishing that he could melt into droplets himself and follow the liquid down the drain and into oblivion.

It could have been minutes, hours or years later that he finally stepped out, body red but eyes empty as he let himself dry naturally, not bothering to cast a drying charm or even wrap himself in a towel. The cool air quickly assaulted his sensitive skin, feeling icy against the heat and making him shudder, but he barely noticed as he finally forced himself to look in that damned mirror. Fred's face stared back at him, yet it wasn't Fred's. It wasn't even George's. Their faces had always been lit up in laughter, their smiles with mischievousness, their eyes with joyful life.

He looked at himself and didn't recognise the picture before him; before _it_ happened, the only thing separating him and his twin had been the missing ear that now mocked him, reminding him that he wasn't, could never be, his brother. But now, he didn't see anyone he knew, merely a shell of a man that had lost so much.

His eyes drifted down to the tattoo that rested on his collarbone, meeting it's small, beady eyes as it rested an inked hand on his shoulder as if trying to comfort him. The silvery pixie had been as morose as the owner of the skin it lived on since it had also lost its copy, and its form was as slumped, as hopeless, as George's. "He's gone." The man whispered to the image, unable to stop the tears flowing silently down his cheeks and noticing that ink was now streaking down his chest as his tattoo was also surrendering to the grief. "He's not coming back. He's never coming back."

The small creature blinked slowly at him, before fluttering its wings and heading downwards. It came to a halt over his left pectoral, and with one last devastated look, closed its eyes. Curling into a ball, face pressed over his now broken heart, it seemed to fall asleep, seemed to solidify, seemed to die.

And there the one who had lost its other half remained. The pixie was never to plan pranks, cause mischief, bring amusing mayhem to anyone again. That small tattoo was never to move, laugh or bring life to the world again. That inky reminder of Fred and George's eternal bond was as dead as its owners twin. And with one sad sigh, George turned away from the mirror, the image of the man he now hated, and returned to his late brother's bedroom, curling up on his bed, enveloping himself in his smell, and wishing that he could follow his tattoo to find his other half once more.


End file.
